第十五章 (Chapter Fifteen)

Ma Bole and Mrs. Ma stepped off the train onto the platform. Looking all around, she realized she didn't recognize a single soul. There were plenty of people on the platform, but they were all strangers. Mrs. Ma had no choice but to follow the stream of the crowd. First she entered an underground passageway, and after emerging from it onto a platform again, she headed straight for several rows of large buses parked alongside the railway tracks, for those buses were to carry refugees like them to the refugee shelter.

When Ma Bole and Mrs. Ma disembarked, the sky had seemed overcast, the light dusky. But once down, it was different. The large electric bulbs atop the telegraph poles cast a harsh, brilliant light on the ground. Everything seemed to be smoking. Not only was there smoke, but the air held an indescribable smell, like burning cloth, or like something from a chemical plant. Mrs. Ma wondered: could Japanese planes have released poison gas?

So from the moment she got off, Mrs. Ma kept a small handkerchief pressed over her nose, not daring to take deep breaths, inhaling only with great care. She walked ahead, while Ma Bole stayed close to the children behind her. Joseph and Yage walked even farther back. After a while, Joseph noticed his mother far ahead and began running to catch up, for Yage was slowing down more and more. Yage was young, her legs short; of course she couldn't keep pace with Joseph.

But the moment Joseph overtook his mother, he turned and ran back again, falling behind once more. By the time his mother reached the square where the buses were parked, Joseph was lagging far behind. Yet Yage had somehow gotten ahead of Joseph. Though her legs were short, she was running, scurrying along in a panic, while Joseph strolled along unhurried and slow.

As soon as Mrs. Ma reached the bus, she wanted to rest. She was genuinely tired from the running, and her eyes were blurry; she wanted to lie down. Without bothering to check if it was the bus meant for them, she climbed aboard and sprawled on a long seat. In fact, that bus was about to depart, heading for the riverfront; it was not the one assigned to take them to the shelter.

Just as Ma Bole boarded, the bus started moving. It stopped at a place not far from the river. Ma Bole looked around, saw it was near the water, got off, and began walking towards the riverbank.

Mrs. Ma said, "What? What? Have we come back again? Are we crossing the river once more?"

Ma Bole said, "Is this crossing the river? Where are we going?"

Mrs. Ma said, "How should I know!"

Mrs. Ma looked up and saw they had indeed returned to the riverside. The river water was dark and murky, the steamboats on it bearing only a few dim lights. Gazing into the distance, the mist was thick and heavy. Mrs. Ma said, "Isn't this crossing the river? Why aren't we going to the refugee shelter? Isn't the refugee shelter south of the river?"

Ma Bole didn't answer. He simply pressed on helplessly through the crowd, walking again on the sodden ground, walking along the river's edge. Mrs. Ma had no choice but to follow. Yage was being carried in Joseph's arms. The moment she saw the dark river, she cried out, "Joseph, we've fallen into the river!"

Joseph didn't respond. Yage shouted again, "Joseph, we've fallen into the river!"

This time Joseph understood. He said, "What are you shouting about? So what if we've fallen into the river!"

Hearing him tell her not to shout, Yage made even more noise. "Joseph, we've fallen into the river!"

Joseph grew truly impatient. "If you keep shouting, I'll throw you into the river."

Then Yage quieted down.

Ma Bole's mind was a turmoil of anguish. Mrs. Ma's mind was in chaos too. She could see nothing, hear nothing, groping her way forward in the dark along the riverbank. She could barely walk, let alone carry Yage.

Mrs. Ma was utterly exhausted. She stopped and said, "Wait a moment, I really…" She had meant to say she couldn't walk any farther, but seeing Ma Bole's pitiful state, she held her tongue. Ma Bole's eyes stared fixedly ahead, as if seeing nothing, yet as if seeing everything. His feet moved forward tentatively, as if afraid of bumping into something. He lifted them high and set them down with painful slowness.

Seeing Ma Bole's condition, Mrs. Ma felt a pang of fear. She said, "Let's walk slowly! When will we ever reach the refugee shelter?"

Ma Bole didn't answer, but he lifted his feet even higher, as if slogging through mire, each step seeming like a cautious probe. Not far along, Ma Bole stumbled and fell, sending Yage flying out into the mud. Joseph and Mrs. Ma were both startled. Mrs. Ma hurried to pull Yage up. Seeing she wasn't badly hurt, just coated in mud from head to face, she sighed with relief.

Ma Bole clambered to his feet; Mrs. Ma also rose, and they pressed on again. Mrs. Ma's shoes were soaked through, and the mud on the path was so deep that with every step, it rose past her ankles. Mrs. Ma thought: How can this be? The road is uneven and the muck so deep. But she didn't voice it, for Ma Bole's pitiful appearance made her unable to complain.

After a few steps, Ma Bole fell again, this time more heavily. He broke his nose, and blood streamed down his face. Mrs. Ma helped him up. His leg seemed injured; Mrs. Ma saw a large hole torn in his trousers at the knee. Ma Bole stood up without a word. Seeing him like this, Mrs. Ma's heart ached, but there was nothing to be done. She could only follow.

Now it became even more difficult. When Ma Bole took a step, Mrs. Ma had to take one. When Ma Bole fell, Mrs. Ma fell too. But they paid it no mind. They simply got up after falling and walked on.

The wind by the river was fierce, and it was a late autumn night. It cut into their faces like a knife. Yet Ma Bole and the others seemed not to feel it at all. They just fell, got up, and walked on.

The night was dark, the path slippery, the mud deep, and the wind cold.

Mrs. Ma's Ma Bole walked ahead. Mrs. Ma's Ma Bole often fell, and Mrs. Ma often fell too. But they felt no pain, no cold, no darkness.

Mrs. Ma thought: This is the end, this is the end. What kind of wartime flight is this? It's pure torment. But she didn't say it aloud. Looking at Ma Bole, she thought him utterly pitiful. His eyes stared fixedly ahead, as if seeing nothing, yet as if seeing everything. His legs seemed not his own. He didn't feel pain when he fell, didn't feel pain when he rose.

Mrs. Ma wondered: What is wrong with him? Could he have lost his mind?

As Mrs. Ma pondered, she suddenly heard someone ahead shout, "We're here, we're here…"

Ma Bole seemed not to hear. He still fell, got up, and walked on.

Mrs. Ma tugged at him and said, "We're here. The refugee shelter is here."

Only then did Ma Bole seem to hear. He stopped and looked around, seeing nothing.

Mrs. Ma pointed to the place ahead with a row of lights and said, "That's the refugee shelter."

Ma Bole nodded, and they walked forward again.

Now it was better. The path leveled out, the mud lessened, and the lights became visible.

They reached the entrance of the refugee shelter. It was already packed with people, all just off trains or boats, all refugees. Some sat, some lay, some wept, some cried out.

Seeing this scene, Mrs. Ma's tears fell.

Ma Bole still stared straight ahead, as if seeing nothing. He took Mrs. Ma's hand and pushed his way through the crowd inside.

Once inside, a man in uniform asked where they were from and how many there were.

Ma Bole said not a word. Mrs. Ma said, "We're from Shanghai. There are five of us."

The man in uniform said, "Go over there to register."

Mrs. Ma led Ma Bole over to register. After finishing, the man gave them a slip of paper and said, "Go to shelter number nine."

Mrs. Ma took Ma Bole by the hand, carried Yage, and guided Joseph to find shelter number nine.

Shelter number nine was a large room, already filled to capacity with people-men and women, old and young, all crammed together. Straw was spread on the floor, and people slept on it.

Seeing this, Mrs. Ma's tears fell again. She thought: How can we sleep here? There's not even room to sit. But she had no choice. She squeezed in.

As soon as Ma Bole entered the room, he collapsed onto the straw, motionless.

Mrs. Ma called to him, but he didn't respond. She shook him, but he didn't wake. Mrs. Ma wondered: What is wrong with him?

Mrs. Ma felt his forehead. It was burning hot. Mrs. Ma said, "He's sick. He has a fever."

Mrs. Ma looked around for someone to help, but no one paid her any mind. Everyone was asleep, or exhausted, or simply numb.

With no other option, Mrs. Ma placed Yage on the straw and called Joseph over. The family huddled together.

Mrs. Ma sat on the straw. Ma Bole lay on it, and Yage and Joseph also lay down. Mrs. Ma looked at Ma Bole's fever-flushed face, and her tears fell once more.

The night grew deep. Everyone in the room was asleep now, except for Mrs. Ma alone. She looked at Ma Bole, at the children, at all the people in the room. She thought: Is this the wartime flight? Is this life?

She didn't know. She only felt cold, hungry, and tired.

The wind still blew outside the window, and the river steamers still whistled. But everyone in the room slept, as if hearing nothing.

Mrs. Ma wanted to sleep too, but she couldn't. She just sat there, sat there until dawn.

Dawn came, the sun rose, but the room remained dark, for the windows were small and set high up.

People awoke. Some wept, some cried out, some searched for food.

Ma Bole also woke. He opened his eyes, looked at Mrs. Ma and the children, then closed them again.

Mrs. Ma felt his forehead. It was still hot. Mrs. Ma said, "You're sick. I'll find some water for you to drink."

Mrs. Ma stood up, wanting to look for water, but she didn't know where to go. She looked around and saw a bucket in a corner. She walked over to it.

There was a little water left in the bucket, but it was filthy, mixed with straw and mud. Mrs. Ma thought: How can this be drunk? But she had no choice. She used her handkerchief to filter the water, then brought it over for Ma Bole to drink.

Ma Bole drank the water and fell asleep again.

Mrs. Ma sat on the straw again. She looked at Ma Bole, at the children, and began to wonder: When will this end? How long must this wartime flight last?

She did not know. She only felt that life, this world, was truly cruel.